


All That And More

by Southbroom



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Surfing AU, holiday au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 03:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18086402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Southbroom/pseuds/Southbroom
Summary: Jaime arranges to go on a holiday with his brother, Tyrion. The destination is Tarth - a small island in the Stormlands known for its surfing hotspots. Amongst other things.





	1. Chapter 1

The waters were blue, bluer than the ones back home and possibly the best he’s seen on his twenty-four years. One glance at the hotel lobby left even the privileged Jaime Lannister impressed. The Sapphire Isle was living up to its internet advertisements.

 

With contented sigh, he tore his eyes away from the ocean and ordered one of the staff members to take his bags up the his hotel room. He would go up later. Why waste time when there was still enough daylight to catch a few of those swells?

 

Jaime skipped through the door, wind blowing his hair back. The lazy palm trees beside the path to Duncan’s Bay was enough promise a long, satisfying holiday.

 

x

 

It had been one of _those_ days.

With the holiday season coming up, Tarth was flooded with couples and families coming for their well-deserved breaks from civilisation. But for the locals, summer meant the busiest working time of the year. And Goodwin’s was blooming.

 

A queue formed outside the restaurant, which was supposed to make Brienne happy because of all the cash coming in, but it just make her more miserable. Customers had the choice of ordering a drink from the bar before they were assigned a table, and this made Brienne’s day miserable, as she managed the bar.

 

Her long shift, which started at 2 and ended at 12pm was proving to be unbearably busy for one person to manage. The floor waiters were barking drink orders at her and demanding tourists in the queue were doing much of the same. Brienne felt like running away by the time when the day slurred to 4pm. Were her wages really worth working at this bar, she wondered, just as a child messed the soda onto the counter _. Not bloody likely_ , she thought.

 

Just then, the epitome of the rude Westerosi tourist was trying to get her attention as she finished a middle-aged woman’s martini.

 

“Hello there.”A smooth voice came from behind stylish sunglasses. “Can I have a drink or what?”

 

“What can I get you?”Brienne asked.

 

“So feisty, wench! Is there trouble in paradise?”

 

“Excuse me?”Brienne piped. She felt stupid for how abruptly it came out, laced with irritation and exhaustion, but she still had some fight left in her.

 

“I was wondering if there is something wrong.”he clarified, “You look... angry.”

 

“I’m fine. Just a little confused over why I am being addressed as ‘wench’.”

 

His face shifted into a coy smile, “Wench? You know, serving-wench... waitress.”

 

“Right.”

 

Brienne passed the woman her drink, trying to not let her offence get the better of her. As Goodwin always reminded her: “The customer is always right.”. Brienne rolled her eyes. ‘Wench’might be a nice nickname in King’s Landing, but that slang was yet to reach Tarth.

 

“I’ll have a Pina colata, please.”He ordered, smiling so that all his white teeth showed.

 

Brienne nodded and then bent down to get the ice from the machine. The tone that the tourist had used made her think that he was not trying to tease her, and that there was some hurt intended by “wench”. When she resurfaced she could see the man leaning back on the bar, looking at a group of ladies who were sitting at a table.

 

 _So you_ _’_ _re one of those_ , she thought. She scowled, thinking about how much she hated guys like that. There was something about his handsome smile and easy way that sent off warning signs in her head. She shuddered. It made Brienne think of Hyle.

 

He was wearing a loose white shirt with patterned swimming shorts, his bronze toes clad in sandals. Once she handed him his drink he presented her with a shiny credit card.

 

He gave her a warm smile and then proceeded to say: “Thanks, wench.”

 

Hyle Hunt, a guy from the Vale, had come to Tarth the previous summer. He had taken an unusual interest in her. After two weeks of flirting, just when she let her guard down, he had tried to take advantage of her. She had kicked him in the balls and ran for the hills, cursing her tears as they came. A week later she learnt that Hyle had taken a bet from friends that he could get her laid before they flew back to the continent.  

 

There was a manner in which the man who ordered the pina colata carried himself. Different from Hyle, in a way. Worse. He was walking around the room like he owned Goodwin’s. Arsehole.

 

 

x

 

 

 **How** **’** **s the talent so far?**

 

It was a message from his younger brother, Tyrion.

 

 **delightful ;)** he typed back, smirking.

 

**Better be ;;)**

 

A few months back, Jaime had ended a toxic relationship with his girlfriend of many years. Leaving her was one of the hardest things he had ever gone through, and Tyrion’s support was beyond helpful.

 

The brothers had grown closer than since he left her, and even managed to convince their father to book them a holiday one on the prime surfing locations in the world.

 

Tyrion couldn’t surf, but Tarth apparently had plenty of historical sites from his little brother to explore while he was busy. Places like the _Ruins of Evenfall Hall_ , as Tyrion spoke of so often, not that Jaime really cared. There were only two Gods in his life: the ocean and Cersei. And now that Cersei… well, he would just have to devote more of his time more faithful of his gods.

 

Tyrion has due to arrive in a four days. He got caught up by his final exams for his Political Science degree but Jaime didn’t mind. A few days alone without Tyrion was going to be irritating, but nothing he couldn’t handle. And there really was some talent on Tarth, even just from what he had seen.

 

Jaime remembered visiting Dorne on a family holiday when he was smaller. Tyrion was only a toddler then, and his father had sent them away with Aunt Genna in a desperate attempt to keep sane. Tywin Lannister was, after all, a CEO and single father. The atmosphere of Tarth was reminding him of that holiday, when Aunt Genna took them on countless beach trips and ice-creams. Tyrion was so small he would eat the beach sand. 

 

**Let me know when I can call you. A bit of a fuck up occurred…**

 

Jaime frowned at the message. That couldn’t be anything good.

 

“Tall brother!” Tyrion picked up after the first ring.

 

“Short brother?”

 

“Hi Jaime. Um… I don’t know how to the say this exactly. I can’t come to Tarth.”

 

“What?”

 

“Before you get angry, it’s not my fault!”

 

Jaime closed his eyes, exhaling forcefully. He could practically see the guilty expression his Tyrion’s face.

 

“What happened?”

 

“Father went and organised a summer exchange program for me at the University of Winterfell.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Yes, apparently it’s with the esteemed Maester Luin. He’s an expert in North-South politics-“

 

“How long is the program, Tyrion?”

 

“A month.”

 

“A month!” Jaime exclaimed.

 

Their Tarth vacation was supposed to be two weeks long.

 

“I know! I am angry too. I called the Maester personally and asked him if he could move the dates but he says that he’s going on some cruise to Estermont in three weeks. And father apparently knows him from his political days-”

 

“It’s as if father hates us!” Jaime cried.

 

“I know!”

 

“But it’s okay. I spoke to Cousin Lancel and he would love to take my-“

 

“Lancel! Lancel, seriously? Do you not get the point of this holiday, Tyrion? I wanted to spend time with you!”

 

“And me with you, Jaime-“

 

“No, no. You don’t understand.” He spat, “You get to have some ‘once in a lifetime’ opportunity, Cersei goes on fucking some other Baratheon quarterback and I’m still alone! You should have the nerve to stand up to him!”

 

“What, just like you always have?” Tyrion said sarcastically, “The man is a - a giant, Jaime. Well, especially to me.”

 

“I don’t know why you’re making jokes! This isn’t funny!”

 

“Calm down, Jaime.”

 

“Enjoy fucking Winterfell, Tyrion.”

 

“Jaime-“

 

He put down the phone and kicked some golden beach sand for what it was worth.

 

 

x


	2. Chapter 2

Brienne heard someone call her name. She scanned the hundreds of umbrellas for its source.

 

“I’m here.”

 

Brienne nearly whipped her surfboard into Podrick’s face.

 

“Oi, don’t sneak up on me like that!”

 

“Sorry. I’m just excited. Look!”

 

He gestured up and down to his new wetsuit, even doing a twirl for Brienne. It was bright red, with the letters “TARTH SEA RESCUE” spanning across his back in large yellow letters.

 

“Look at you!” she smiled, “Very dapper indeed.”

 

“Thanks, Brienne.” He said, blushing sweetly.

 

Podrick was an orphan who had joined the Tarth’s Junior Life Guard Club a few years ago. Brienne met Pod through her father, who managed the Sea Rescue on Tarth. It was an important job that kept her father busy and well-connected with the local community. He was a well-respected man on the island.

 

Brienne met Podrick at one of her father’s classes and quickly offered to give him free surfing lessons. Pod was friendly and eager to learn, even if he wasn’t the greatest surfer. Since the lessons started, a strong friendship had emerged between the two of them, something that surprised Brienne considering their considerable age gap.

 

“Where’s your board?”

 

“Right there.” Pod replied, pointing to a point far off where it stood planted into the sand.

 

He started moving toward it, but Brienne pulled him back.

 

“Let’s check out the ocean first.”

 

“Oh… right.” Pod said apologetically. He always forgot.

 

Brienne lead them to the life guard tower. They greeted Samson, the life guard on duty at the time, and started climbing the tower. Once at the top, Brienne asked Pod where he thought the best spot to surf was.

 

The boy’s eyes narrowed as he observed the bay. “Well obviously not by all the people swimming in between the flags.”

 

“Correct” Brienne encouraged.

 

“And the waves look pretty wild by those rocks. Maybe to the left of that stump? Almost by the mouth of the lagoon?”

 

“Remember to look at the water colour. Where are the waves are breaking and in what direction?”

 

“Oh, right! Then maybe there?” he asked.

 

“No.” Brienne said, “See that darker patch of water there?”

 

“It that a rip?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“But it was there last time!”

 

“That’s the thing about the ocean, it moves…”

 

“Not like, a hundred meters!”

 

“Sometimes!”

 

Pod laughed, looking helpless.

 

“Over there”, Brienne pointed to the south of the Bay. “The wind looks a bit more tame and the waves are big and white and parallel to the shore.”

 

“Parallel, right.” Pod nodded.

 

“You’re doing better already.” She encouraged, winning a meek smile from him.

 

They walked to Brienne’s chosen spot, working their way through the maze of tourists tanning in the sunlight. Pod was halfway through a story about the baby shark that a fisherman from the harbour had seen, when Brienne saw the same blond guy from the bar.

 

He was playing beach volleyball with a group of Dragonstone girls, laughing his head off and clearly winning the game.

 

She shook her head at the sight. He held his hand out to one of the girls who fell in the sand, the very picture of a gentleman, before proclaiming: “Want a rematch? I mean, I’m going to win, but it will be fun seeing you fall again.”

 

Why did bigots get away with rudeness? Brienne wondered where he came from. He was most defiantly a Southerner. Perhaps King’s Landing or one of the other big cities? He certainly had the accent of a city boy.

 

Brienne frowned. As much as she hated it, there was a reason why the bikini girls were flocking around him. There was something very pleasant about the width of his bronze shoulders. And the muscles of his back…

 

“Brienne?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Pete said it was as long as his arm! And my arm is almost as long as his arm! Imagine finding a shark _this big_ in the water?”

 

 

x

 

 

Once his anger at Tyrion had worn off, Jaime decided to make the most of his two weeks in Tarth. He decided that he would treat it as a training week – with a few exceptions, of course.

 

Jaime discovered the most quaint drinking hole in the jungle called Clegane’s. Jaime was almost sure that the bartender was a psychopath, but that still beat the sour-faced woman from the restaurant in town. Clegane was scary, but he had good music taste. Jaime ended up dancing with a few volleyball girls until two in the morning, which was surprisingly fun considering he knew no one on Tarth that morning.

 

It was only on the walk back that he wished Tyrion was there. Or even (Gods above help he’s missing her again) Cersei. Each of their sharp tongues would have had the funniest japes about Clegane, he was sure of it. And of Tarth’s shabby, rusting bed and breakfasts.

 

The next day, Jaime met a Braavosi tourist who informed him of a surfing competition that was to take place that weekend. He brimmed with excitement, his competitive streak bubbling out. He was going to show these islanders what real surfing looked like.

 

For the rest of the morning he ended up catching a few waves with the Bravos guy and his friends, but lost them after lunch.

 

The ocean had changed in that time. The relatively calm waves had transformed into four-meter swells. The sky darkened, but it was not going to rain just yet. Years of experience in his trade and a childhood by the seaside made Jaime somewhat of an expert in spotting the best waves.

 

And they were _perfect_.

 

Almost every time he swam back into the deep, Jaime would ride a wave. This was unusual. The waves of Lannisport, his hometown, were much less predictable. It seemed that the waves were scooping him up. He didn’t have to try, the ocean was doing the surfing for him.

 

Just then, he caught another big one. Jaime stood up from his paddling position, feeling the air on all sides of him. The water rushed under his board and then he could feel himself gathering speed. He stretched his arms out, shifting his weight so that he rode the wave all the way to the shore. He yelped with happiness. It was glorious.

 

As some stage he could see the swimmers leaving the beach, not that it bothered him. There was more clouds in the air now, but the waves were still good. There were still two other surfers further along the beach, so Jaime continued practising.

 

He was so lost in his own world that he only realised someone was shouting at him when they almost next to him.

 

“Are you deaf?” A voice demanded.

 

He turned, shocked to find one of the surfers he had been watching from afar was a woman. He was convinced it had been a father and a son surfing.

 

And did she look mad - her brow knotted in anger. “Get away from the rocks! A storm is packing up. It’s getting dangerous!”

 

“Hey, it’s you, wench.” he greeted, recognising her when she spoke again.

 

In the restaurant she had smoothed her hair back, but now it was plastered to her forehead. Her arms, clad in a thick blue-grey wetsuit, was pointing at the sky.

 

“Come on, let’s go!”

 

“Oh, you have go to relax, wench. The waves are perfect right now.”

 

She stared at him is disbelief.

 

Jaime wondered how he didn’t guess she wasn’t a surfer beforehand. She had so many freckles on her from the sun, and in the exact places were her bare skin was exposed. Her thick neck, her hands, her crooked nose. Even her ears.

 

“I have lived here my entire life. It really is getting dangerous. We need to get back to shore.” Her blue eyes were wide. He wondered if she was always that intense.

 

“How old are you? Fifty? Don’t be such a spoil sport.”

 

Jaime spotted a good wave and turned 180 degrees to ride it. Once he stood up he could see the wench was not far behind. She was standing up, tall as a spruce with her eyes narrowed into slits looking at him. The wave died out and Jaime started paddling deeper again.

 

 

x

 

 

“Look, I don’t know _who_ you think you are –“ Brienne shouted after him, swimming closer to him.

 

“I’m Jaime Lannister. I know how to surf! Seven hells, will you stop nagging?” he laughed at her.

 

Brienne was momentarily stunned to silence.

 

_Jaime Lannister._

 

Jaime Lannister, the surfing national champion of the last seven years. Jaime Lannister, of whom she had a poster of in her room until he was scandalised for cheating. Jaime Lannister, who had his own _limited edition_ surfboard brand she was saving up to buy.

 

“You are _not_ Jaime Lannister.” Brienne accused.

 

He stopped paddling forward and looked at her with a skew expression. Then she knew with a certainty that it was him.  She had seen that smirk on TV.

 

“You know, if someone cuts their hair, they’re still the same person. You’re not the first one that didn’t recognise me.”

 

That made Brienne feel like slightly less of an idiot.

 

“Re- regardless of who you are, we really have to get back to shore.”

 

“Oh, come on. What’s your name?”

 

“Brienne.”

 

He barked out a laugh, “Brienne?”

 

“Brienne Tarth.” She repeated with clenched teeth.

 

“Tarth? You’re named after the place where you live? How _medieval_. Is it that hard to get lost? I mean, it is an island after all, wench.”

 

Brienne knew that Jaime Lannister had a bit of a reputation for being rude, but this was on a different level than she expected. He was just as condescending, as obnoxious, as _vile_ as all the others.

 

“Fine, die. Say near the rocks and let the sea spit you out with a snapped neck. I am getting out.”

 

 

x

 

 

The wench looked at him with such revulsion that all he could do was laugh. She really was a feisty one.

 

Jaime watched her surf back, shaking his head. Some people were just too serious. Too scared. He had met many like the wench in his life. People who thought that he was too much of a risk-taker, that he lived too freely. That he was too care-free. People like his father. Like Cersei.

 

But if you asked Jaime, he would tell you he was the only person he knew that really _lived_.

 

If the last few days had taught him anything, it was that no one was going to be there for him, not really. He was going to have to live for himself. He was going to have to surf for himself.

 

Jaime propped himself up from a kneeling position. He inhaled the cool wind into his lungs and felt the rain upon his arms. This, this is what he was created for, not for anything or anyone else.

 

x 


End file.
